THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR
Early on the morning of March 9th, a sharp knock echoed through the Petersons’ flat. «Who on earth turns up at this hour?» mumbled Nicholas, rolling over in bed.
«Especially after a holiday,» murmured Natalie, keeping her eyes shut and shifting closer to his back. Neither had any intention of getting up. The night before, they’d celebrated International Women’s Day with friends and family, overindulged a bit, and now desperately needed rest.
The knocking came again—harsh, insistent, and thoroughly unpleasant.
Grumbling under her breath, Natalie forced herself up and shuffled to the door.
On the doorstep stood a stranger—a striking, tipsy woman clutching a bottle of champagne.
«Enough lazing about,» she declared bluntly, pushing past her into the flat.
«Where do you think you’re going?» Natalie faltered.
«Where d’you think?» the woman shot back. «Where’s that no-good bloke of yours?»
«W-what bloke?» Natalie grew even more confused.
«What bloke? Yours! Where’s your husband?»
«Excuse me, what do you want with him?»
«Because he promised to spend yesterday with me! Me! And he never showed! Sat there like a fool, waiting with a full table!»
«So you’re…» Natalie pieced it together.
«Yeah! I’m his proper woman! Three months now! Didn’t know, did you?»
Natalie stared, baffled. «So you’ve come to stake your claim?» she asked, dripping with scorn.
«Claim? I came to spit in his face! Ruined a perfectly good holiday!»
«Be my guest,» Natalie’s eyes flashed mischievously. «I’d love to see that. He’s in the bedroom.»
The woman strode off without hesitation—clearly not her first visit.
Meanwhile, Nicholas, listening in horror to his «true love’s» shrieks, scrambled for a way out. «Bloody hell, she’s here! What now? Nat’ll murder me!»
«There you are!» The bedroom door flew open, revealing Lucy.
God, she was something else—young, bold, reckless. The exact opposite of Natalie, who’d grown plump and too sensible. Sure, he appreciated Natalie—two kids, a well-run home, even out-earned him—but where was the passion? Not like Lucy. Two months he’d chased her! Spent a fortune! Even promised marriage!
«Up you get!» Lucy barked. «We’re off to mine!»
«Who the hell are you?» Nicholas blurted, aware of Natalie watching. «I’m not going anywhere!»
«Who am I?» Lucy gasped. «I’ll show you who I am!»
She pounced like a cat, battering him wildly as he shielded himself. Natalie watched, silent.
Lucy’s surprise visit had been eye-opening. The late nights, sudden «business trips,» his indifference to her and the kids—now it made sense. She’d brushed off suspicions, but here was proof.
His mistress. In her home.
«At least she put the champagne down first,» Natalie thought dryly.
«Oi, love, had enough?» she cut in. «Where’d you leave the bubbly?»
Lucy paused, startled by the casual tone. «Over there…»
«Leave him. Let’s drink. Yesterday was a holiday, after all. My head’s killing me.»
«Alright!» Lucy brightened instantly. «You—» she tossed at Nicholas, «—pack your things.»
«Get out, you daft cow!» he shouted.
«Don’t count on it!» Lucy shot back, following Natalie to the kitchen.
They popped the champagne.
«How long’s this been going on?» Natalie asked, filling the glasses.
«Three months! He even promised to marry me.»
«Really?»
«Would’ve, if you hadn’t clung on like a limpet.»
«He tell you that?»
«Course he did!»
«Lying git. I’m not keeping him. Had I known, I’d have sent him packing. Take your prize.»
Lucy left. Natalie exhaled—no one knew what that cost her.
«Nat, I’m really going,» Nicholas hovered in the doorway. «Not even a word?»
«Piss off,» she said, not turning.
So Lucy marched off, victorious, with another woman’s husband in tow.
He followed, head low, bewildered: «How could SHE do this to ME?»
A week later, Lucy kicked him out. «You bloody liar! Playing the big shot, can’t even pay rent!»
Nicholas wasn’t heartbroken. He headed home, bracing for grovelling.
Instead, Natalie looked straight through him. No begging. No seeing the kids.
Where to go at this hour? His parents’.
Surprise—Dad answered but barred the door.
«Grown men don’t bunk here when they’ve a home. Sort out your wife. Beg if you must. And don’t bother bringing other women round—Natalie’s family. Bring her, or don’t come.»
The door slammed.
Months later, Nicholas lives alone—renting nearby, hoping to reconcile.
Natalie sees his efforts, tolerates the attention. But she keeps her distance.
Maybe until the taste of that champagne fades…